


Point-Blank Range

by St_Salieri



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Brothers, Gen, Season/Series 08
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-17
Updated: 2013-01-17
Packaged: 2017-11-26 00:25:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/644534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/St_Salieri/pseuds/St_Salieri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Can they still call themselves a family when all they do is hurt each other?  Spoilers through episode 8.09.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Point-Blank Range

The bar had seen better days. All bars had, as far as Dean was concerned. By the time he got around to visiting them, they had passed their prime years back and settled into a comfortable downward slide populated by loners, drifters and alcoholics.

Any or all which could describe him on any given day.

The whiskey barely burned the back of Dean's throat as he swallowed it down and gave the nod for a second. He could barely remember the first time he had snuck a sip from the bottle his dad wouldn't let him touch - what was he, eight at the time? nine? - and almost gagged at the taste. Dad had roared with laughter and grabbed the bottle back, taking a much longer drink. "Serves you right, kid," he'd said. And then he'd given Dean his first celebratory beer on his thirteenth birthday, the day he'd managed to hit the tin can all six times without wasting a single bullet.

He had a feeling that this was the kind of thing that Sam meant when he talked about how fucked up their upbringing was. But Dean couldn't see it, and he was tired of trying to work his way around to Sam's point of view. Sam had lived in the sitcom world of college parties and kegs and cramming for exams through a hangover. That's what college was like, right? That's what they did on TV, and that's what Dean saw from the crime scenes they'd visited. Not like he'd know any better. Not like he cared.

Besides, that wasn't Sam's world anymore. It hadn't been for a long time, and Dean was damned if he had to pretend like it still was just to cater to his little brother's sensibilities.

A shadow fell across his shoulders as Dean swallowed, and he almost reached for his gun before some sixth sense recognized the body behind him as _familiar_ and _brother_ and _Sam_.

Three weeks and several states apart, and they still ended up pulled together like magnets. After life and death and hell and beyond, Dean couldn't even be surprised at this point.

"So," Dean said, still facing forward and spinning the empty glass between his fingers. "You gonna have a pissy look on your face when I turn around? Because, if so, you can walk your ass right on out of here and keep going."

 _And I can finish this bottle in peace and pretend you're still here,_ he didn't say. Fuck, but whiskey made him pathetic, with a side order of disgustingly self-pitying. He should have gone with the vodka.

He watched out of the corner of his eye as Sam settled the bulk of his body on the next stool over and nodded at the bartender. A beer bottle landed on the bar in front of Sam, and Dean watched it sweat a ring onto the scarred wood before Sam finally picked it up for a long sip.

"I didn't know you'd be here," Sam said, voice carefully blank.

It wasn't like Dean had thought otherwise, but the words still hurt, in an oddly disjointed way. It seemed like he could remember a time in the distant past when he and Sam had been able to sit next to each other and look each other in the eye. He could remember what it felt like to have a drink with the guy he trusted above anyone else in the world, the kid he would (and did) sell his soul for.

It was funny how remembering felt like he was watching someone else's life.

"Didn't mean to get in your way," Dean said brusquely, dropping a twenty on the bar and grabbing his jacket. He hated how pissy and wounded he sounded, but he couldn't seem to stop the words from coming. Trust his younger brother to turn him into a snot-nosed kid again.

He wasn't surprised when Sam followed him out to the parking lot and walked up the passenger door of the Impala like nothing had happened, like it was his fucking rightful place to be there. Dean took a quick look at the small collection of beaters that sat parked across the lot, tried to guess which one Sam had stolen and hot-wired. When had stealing cars become something that Sam had stopped caring about? After Lucifer? After Cold Oak?

Did it really matter?

Dean unlocked the door and climbed behind the driver's seat without a word, hesitating just a moment too long before unlocking the passenger door for Sam. Sam slung the backpack he'd been carrying into the back seat and eased himself in, spreading his long legs to take up as much space as possible. It made Dean keenly aware of how empty the car had felt over the last several weeks. Without another word to Sam, he turned the key and headed in the direction of this week's cheap motel.

**********

Dean had vaguely thought that things would thaw once they got back to the room, but if anything Sam just got more distant and uptight, barely saying two words to him. Dean shrugged and liberated the six pack he'd stored in the mini-fridge, tossing one bottle to Sam and turning on the TV. If Sam was going to be a little bitch about it, no reason why Dean should go out of his way to accommodate his brother's moods. Sam would talk when he was ready.

Except that he didn't, and Dean watched the TV with one eye and Sam with the other as Sam slouched at the table and worked silently at the laptop. Dean didn't know if he was looking up a case, or checking on Kevin, or, hell, maybe writing to his little girlfriend. Shit, maybe that was it. _Hi, honeybear! I found my loser of a brother, and I'm just finishing up with him now. I'll be back tomorrow morning. Kiss the dog for me!_

"So that's it, huh?" Dean said, staring at the TV where the Real Housewives of something-or-other were screaming at each other. The fact that Dean hadn't even noticed what he was watching - and that Sam hadn't immediately started mocking him for it - was just another sign of out out of sync they were. "Come to say your last goodbyes before turning your back on the Winchesters for good, huh?"

Sam finally turned and looked at him, squinting slightly. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

And shit, Dean hadn't meant to say that out loud. He eyed the beer in his hands sourly and set the bottle on the side table. He was in completely the wrong place for this conversation: not entirely sober, but not drunk enough that he could laugh the whole thing off.

"Nothing," he muttered. "Forget it." He cleared his throat and gestured at the laptop. "I had something bookmarked on there about some corpse desecrations in Iowa. It looks like ghouls. I was going to head up there to take a look, if you want to come."

Sam was studying him, that infuriatingly blank expression on his face that made Dean wonder for a wild second if his brother had manage to misplace his soul again. Sam had always been incredibly easy to read, all wrinkled forehead and pouty mouth and heavy sighs that shouted _Dean, you're being an idiot again,_ loud and clear without having to speak a word. But recently - since Purgatory - Sam had been opaque in way that made Dean increasingly uneasy. And it was probably the unease that meant that he couldn't keep his goddamned mouth shut.

"On second thought, never mind," he said, turning back to the TV. There was a commercial on, which at least was slightly less pathetic than what he'd been watching earlier. "You go back to...whatever you've been doing. I'll take care of it myself."

Sam let out a disbelieving snort and slammed the laptop shut, making Dean wince as the cheap plastic hinges squeaked in complaint. "Jesus, Dean. Enough with the passive-aggressive bullshit. What's the matter with you?"

The bed creaked as Dean rolled to his feet and fixed Sam with a glare. "Seriously? You want to go there? Well, since I can't have anyone I trust to watch my back for me, I'd rather go alone!"

Sam stared back at him, eyes narrowed and face firmly fixed in one of his uglier scowls. It wasn't a particularly attractive expression, but it felt better to Dean than the studied, polite blankness had been.

"I'm sorry, what was that?" Sam's voice was quiet, poisonous, and Dean shivered and thought of Lucifer wearing his brother like a meat suit. "Did you say something about _trust_? I guess you've forgotten about that little trick you pulled with Amelia's phone number?"

Sam had gotten to his feet while speaking, stepping close enough that Dean was forced to tip his head back to keep eye contact. Which was probably on purpose, the oversized little shit, but Dean wouldn't give Sam the satisfaction of watching him step back.

"Nope, haven't forgotten," Dean said steadily, watching as Sam's nostrils flared in anger. "What, you want me to say I'm sorry?"

"It would be a start," Sam bit out.

Dean took one step closer and poked Sam in the chest. Sam flinched, but didn't back down. "Look, I'm 'sorry'..." - and Dean made the air quotes with his fingers and everything, just to watch Sam seethe - "...that you forced me to employ a perfectly legitimate distraction tactic."

"Jesus, you're unbelievable," Sam said, grabbing at his own hair with a violence that made Dean suspect that Sam would rather have his hands around Dean's throat. "So you're saying that...what? You messing with my relationships - you getting involved and fucking with the life of some I care about - is _my fault_?"

Dean paused at that, mildly curious and not sober enough to keep his thoughts to himself.

"She okay?" he asked reluctantly, and it felt like the words were dragged out of his throat over broken glass. "Your girl?"

"You mean _Amelia_?" God, Sam was such a snotty little bitch when he was pissed off. "She has a name. And it's over, okay? For good. So don't think you can pull that trick twice."

"Sorry," Dean said, not entirely caring. But Jesus, he was trying here, and Sam wouldn't even give him credit for that.

"Oh, please. Don't even pretend you're the least bit sorry about this."

And with that, the curiosity was gone and the sense of righteous rage came roaring back - and Dean was reminded that _he_ was the aggrieved party here.

"Well, I'm not, okay?" The shout was loud enough that Sam finally took a step back, but Dean followed up and kept right in his face. "Because if I hadn't done it, a friend would have died. So, yeah. I did what I had to do, and I'm not fucking sorry about it!"

Sam turned away and threw up his hands. "A vampire would have died before a hunter - a family _friend_ \- got killed. That's what you meant to say, right?"

"Oh, no you don't." Dean grabbed Sam's arm and dragged him right back around, giving him a good shake in the process. "You're the one who brought Martin into this mess. Dude, the guy was not right in the head. I'm sorry for what happened to him, but...how could you possibly think that was a good idea?"

Sam pulled himself away, shoving Dean hard. "Maybe if you'd had your head on straight in the first place it wouldn't have to come to this, Dean! Jesus, you've been hunting all your life, and suddenly you're all best buddies with a vamp and making excuses for people dying? What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"I trust him," Dean said, for what felt like the millionth time. Sam's face was closed off like a brick wall. "And he didn't kill those people! You don't get it, okay? What we've been through the last year...."

Dean didn't think it possible, but Sam's expression got even tighter. "Yeah. Sorry I couldn't be a member of your little Purgatory Club," he spit out. "But I guess you've got someone new you can hunt with now. Someone you can _trust_. As long as he doesn't get too angry or too hungry, right?"

Dean took a step back and studied Sam through narrowed eyes. "Is this all about Benny?" he asked incredulously. "I'm not hunting with him, okay? I don't know where the fuck he is right now, and I don't really care!" Sam snorted in disbelief, and Dean couldn't resist digging in the knife a little bit. "But maybe I should reconsider it. It might be nice to trust someone to have my back who isn't going to let me get knocked out and chained to a fucking radiator because he doesn't like the call I've made!"

Sam flinched just a bit at that one, to Dean's immense satisfaction. The anger was roaring hot in his veins now, burning away the sad drunkenness he felt like he'd been trapped in for the past few weeks. Sam was dragging angry breaths in through clenched teeth, and the sight seared Dean's insides with a vicious purity.

"Why are you here, anyway?" he goaded.

Sam's hands were fisted and shaking now, knuckles white against the darker skin of his hands, and Dean couldn't seem to shut his goddamned mouth.

"Why don't you go back to your girlfriend if you hate this life so much, huh? If you hate _me_ that much?"

Even though he'd been halfway expecting it for the last ten minutes, the punch still caught Dean by surprise. His head snapped back, his momentum spinning him around until he caught himself on the wall. Sam's eyes were huge and dark in his pale face - but not demon dark, no. This was just good old-fashioned human rage, and Dean found himself smiling fiercely even as he wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth. There was so much in this world he didn't understand - with Sam being at the top of that long list - but _this_...this he understood. He felt his body right itself into a defensive stance without even thinking about it, and the physicality of the motion soothed a part of his psyche that had felt so wrong, so out of place since he'd returned from Purgatory. His mind felt clear for the first time in months. He watched dispassionately as Sam fell into his own stance, just as Dean had taught him decades ago, and he felt like laughing because he'd let just let Sam get his one good hit in. The kid may be taller and heavier than Dean, but he'd get his ass handed to him in the end, just like he always did. It was only a matter of time.

And this was something Dean could make time for.

"That all you got?" he asked. The blood tickled his lips again, but he didn't wipe it away this time. He kept his eyes and his attention fully focused on Sam, because that's what a predator did if he wanted to survive. He automatically cataloged the way Sam's eyes narrowed, the way his weight shifted onto his back foot before he took a second swing. The punch could not have been more obviously telegraphed, and Dean felt a fierce joy as he easily ducked and gave Sam a jab in the ribs for his trouble - not enough to incapacitate him, oh no. This was just a warning strike, so Sam would know who he was dealing with here. And by the blink of surprise on Sam's face, he knew, all right. When Sam kicked out with one of his long legs and tried to hook Dean's ankle, he was grinning almost as wide as Dean himself.

**********

The ceiling fan spun lazily above them, the blades whirring in and out of focus. Dean didn't know if the blurring was the result of the beer or his eye swelling shut.

At least he could take comfort in the fact that Sam was worse off than he was.

"Ow," Sam said pitifully to the ceiling, sounding all of eight year old. "You suck, dude."

Dean reached unsteadily across the floor and grabbed for the last two beers. He handed one to Sam, who clinked his bottle against Dean's before holding it up to his aching head.

The two of them lay tangled together in the small space between the two beds, aching and bruised but with no permanent damage. (There had been a moment of panic when Dean thought one of his teeth had been knocked loose, because he seriously would have killed Sam for real for that.) As the punching became grappling became wrestling, the adrenaline had worn off and Sam's moves had become more and more sloppy. The guy had kept himself in good shape during his civilian hiatus, but his hand-to-hand skills were for shit. Dean was going to have to work with him on that.

Sam took a sip of the beer - his third or fourth after they'd called truce, not that Dean was really counting - and fingered the side of his head with a wince.

"I think you ripped out some of my hair," he said, giving Dean an inebriated glare. For all of his size, Sam still couldn't hold his drink worth a damn. "You fight like a girl."

"Yeah, tell that to the teeth marks in my arm," Dean shot back. Sam snorted in amusement and collapsed back against the side of the bed. They sat there in a comfortable silence for a long while, and Dean felt his twisted insides unloosening because this was exactly what he had missed.

"I'm sorry," Sam whispered, just as Dean was starting to wonder if his brother had fallen asleep on him.

"Yeah, me too," Dean said easily. And that was really all that needed to be said, right? Because they had both fucked up and pissed each other off and dealt with it in the best possible way. Sam, though, seemed to want to ruin everything by talking about it.

"No, I mean it," he said, still staring at the ceiling fan as if it held the mysteries of the universe. "I wish...I wish I could have been there with you." He took another sip. "Purgatory," he clarified, as if there was a danger of Dean thinking he was talking about something else.

 _Yeah, me too,_ Dean almost said, but didn't. Because fuck if he knew what he wanted. He remembered that missing year, feeling the loss of Sam like a pain in his gut even as he fought his way through an endless universe of monsters. But even while missing his brother, he remembers the satisfaction of knowing that _Sam is safe, Sam's not here, Sam can't be hurt._

And fuck, he can admit that he's just selfish enough that, on the hard days, he would have traded that knowledge of safety just to have Sam at his side again.

"I'm a horrible brother," Sam said into the silence, and Dean rolled his eyes and jabbed his elbow into Sam's ribs.

"Shut up, dude. You get all soppy when you're drunk. You're not a horrible brother. Except when you steal my shirts and stretch them out."

The deflecting joke was weak, but he seriously didn't know if he had enough brain power to deal with the emotional upheaval that Sam always seemed to go through once he had a few drinks in him. It was as if he kept himself locked up so tight the rest of the time that with the smallest bit of alcohol he gave his rational brain permission to retire from the field.

"I am," Sam said mournfully. He grabbed Dean's wrist and squeezed hard. "I should have looked harder for you. I should have _known_ , somehow. If I was a better brother, I would have found you."

"Shut up," Dean repeated, yanking his wrist free. Sam let out a mournful little sound like he had been punched again, so Dean grabbed one of the pillows and stuffed it behind Sam's head where it lay propped against the side of the bed. "Go to sleep," he said gruffly, patting Sam on the knee.

Sam fixed an accusing look at him, but obediently closed his eyes. And Dean knew what Sam wanted to hear - _it's okay, Sam, I don't blame you, I forgive you_ \- but he couldn't get the words out. He wanted to say them, really, but the hurt he still couldn't control welled up like blood from a knife wound and his throat closed up. Maybe it would always be like this between them, trading hurt for hurt until they were just two raw nerves, flayed and bloody and unable to be around each other at all. Dean hoped it never came to that, because if that was the ultimate outcome? He might as well have stayed in Purgatory for good.

Besides, he had his own guilt to deal with.

Sam's mouth was hanging open now, a light snore the only sound to be heard. He looked about twenty years younger like this, and Dean took a moment to mourn the happy boy he had been so many years ago, before angels and demons and Hell itself had scarred his brother from the inside. He smoothed back Sam's too-long hair - a gesture he hadn't made in years, and one he never would have made if Sam had been awake - and wondered if his brother was the braver one after all.

"You're a better man than I am, Sammy." The words meant next to nothing spoken to a silent room, but it was all Dean could force himself to do. "If I was a better brother, I'd be able to let you go."

 


End file.
